


The Same Night Sky

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: The Greatest Game [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock POV kind of, post-HLV, sherlock learns what matters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:17:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock remembers what brought him comfort when he was away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Same Night Sky

Sherlock never cared about the sky and the stars, the solar system, galaxies, or the vastness of the universe at all. It was so unnecessary, _useless_ , and he couldn’t be bothered with it. That was, until, John’s blog on 7 February 2010, in which John was frankly appalled that Sherlock hadn’t known the Earth revolved around the sun. At first Sherlock was indignant, because WHO CARES?

Despite his early annoyance, John seemed to have inspired a new passion for the night sky, as only John could do. Not that Sherlock ever bothered to learn the finer points, the planets and stars and constellations will never be important to him.

But the sky, looking at the sky, how everyone was under the same sky, that became important.

Now, as Sherlock sits on the cold park bench, he looks up at the sky. It’s the first night he’s been out on a case since he was shot. John hadn’t let him out, and even tonight’s case was barely a two. A missing inheritance. Boring. Three months ago Sherlock wouldn’t have even bothered with pants, but as his shoulder begins to burn he realizes that he’ll still far from the top of his game. Still, the fresh air feels nice and it was good to be able to think again, even if it was entirely dull. And he is out under the night sky.

It is remarkably clear, clear enough to see the full moon and Mars—see, he’s not _that_ ignorant—through the light pollution of London. He can't see the Milky Way, not the way he could whilst in lonelier parts of the world, but he knows it's there. While he was away, Sherlock had taken to looking up at the night sky, sometimes for hours, as he bounced from city to city around the world. He learned to take immeasurable comfort from the night sky. Even while in the cell in Serbia, a barred window had been enough to provide him a sliver of comfort, just enough. Enough for him to remember why he was doing what he was doing, why he was suffering physically and mentally.

Because John was somewhere under the same sky. When Sherlock looked up at the stars, he could imagine John would also be looking up at the stars. That John was seeing the same moon he was seeing, could pick up some of the same patterns he could. Once, while in France, there had been a partial lunar eclipse visible throughout most of Europe, including London. It had made Sherlock almost giddy to think that maybe John would stay up to see it, that maybe they were both experiencing the same celestial phenomenon even if they were apart.

When Sherlock couldn’t see the sky at night, when the weather was bad or he was holed up in a safe house, or during that abominable sand storm in the Thar—if Sherlock never goes back to India it will be too soon, he can barely stand the take-away anymore—he would be overcome with such sadness that he would start to wonder why he was bothering. Why he bothered with any of it, and the unbearable loneliness and ennui of his predicament would become almost suffocating. Then the next night the sky would clear and he would look up and remember. Sherlock would remember that John was under the same sky, looking at the same moon and the same stars, and his resolve would return stronger than ever. The night sky would forever be tied with John, intertwined with the man who saved him and the man Sherlock would always save in return.

Back in London, Sherlock doesn’t look at the sky as much. He doesn’t really need to anymore. But tonight, Sherlock looks up at the sky and thinks about how much comfort it brought him, how imaging John might be looking at the same moon he was, was just enough to keep him on the correct path. The night sky was the reason he made it back to London.

Sherlock looks up at the night sky and offers a word of thanks, to anybody, to nobody, to whoever might or might not be up there.

“What are we looking at?” John plops down on the bench next to Sherlock and holds out a wrapped package of fish and chips to him. “Cheers.”

“The sky.” Sherlock states simply, smiling slightly as he takes his dinner, eyes still fixed upward. He’s trying to eat more while he recovers, if only to get John to leave him alone. Tedious.

“Heh, I thought it didn’t matter,” John teases, mouth full of fish, but he looks up too. Sherlock turns to look at him. He is contentedly munching on his fish, cheeks still flushed and eyes full of excitement. John looks happy.

“I believe I was theorizing without knowing all the facts. I’ve come to realize it matters much more than I thought.”

“Mmmm,” John chuckles, playfully nudging Sherlock’s foot with his own then turns to concentrating on digging chips out of the package.

Sherlock smiles at the brief touch and turns his eyes back to the stars. He doesn’t need to look at them anymore, but now at least when he does, John will be with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I like the night sky. It's so NEAT you guys. Sherlock's missing out.
> 
> And thank you to hotshoe2014, for pointing out how bad the light pollution in London is. I guess I'm grateful for the slightest bit of Milky Way I can see where I live! :)


End file.
